


Tomorrow Who Knows Where We'll Be

by ohhaypsy



Series: Missing [2]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: Richie's not good at goodbyes.Companion piece toDream a Good One Tonight,can possibly be read as a stand-alone.





	1. September 1989 - Beverly Marsh

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Dream a Good One Tonight,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784731) detailing the goodbyes Richie has to say in that fic. It can possibly be read as a stand-alone. Important thing to know is that for the first few years after everything, Richie fields a lot of late night phone calls from the other losers.
> 
> Characterizations are based almost entirely on the 2017 movie. Please feel free to point out any inconsistencies.
> 
> This first chapter was originally posted under the title If We Never Go Inside, but was pulled because I realized I jumped the gun on posting it. Fic is now fully finished.
> 
> Richie/Eddie does show up in a later chapter, but the fic itself is very friendship focused.
> 
> Title from 'Every Thug Needs a Lady' by Alkaline Trio.

** September - 1989 **

Richie makes sure he and Bev get a day to themselves. A final hurrah before she leaves, but Richie doesn't like to think about that part of it. He's not good with emotional stuff; sappy goodbyes are definitely not in his wheelhouse. So he packs the day full of what seems to be basic shit. They catch a movie, (Richie buys the tickets, Bev springs for the snacks,) play in the arcade, (Bev destroys him in shooters, but even she can't touch him in Street Fighter,) and then go to the quarry to split a pack of cigarettes.

Just the two of them. The other Losers know that this is Bev and Richie's day.

It's a late afternoon in September; the water is too cold for swimming by now, but the rocks are still sun-warmed, comfortable enough to lay out on.

They're on their backs next to each other, Richie's arms folded behind his head, while Bev's got a bunched up sweater under hers. Richie is quiet -- he's been talking non-stop all day, and now, weirdly enough, is okay with the comfortable silence.

He doesn't want Bev to go, but knows it'd for the best. She doesn't talk about her father, about the shit that happened in the Marsh apartment, but she doesn't have to. He remembers the fear in her eyes when she warned them about her father's reaction to finding out she had boys in the apartment. He saw Alvin Marsh walking around town with his face all fucked up while Bev stayed at a hotel room with her aunt who had suddenly rushed up from Portland. Hell, the move to Portland itself told Richie everything he needed to know.

Not to mention he doesn't think he'll ever forget Bev's scream of rage as she shoved a spike down her clown-dad's throat, even if the memories are already turning fuzzy. No, Bev didn't have to say anything. Richie's heart already ached for her, even if he'd never say it out loud. That whole emotionally stunted thing and all.

Richie is sad to see Bev leave, but happy to know at least one of them was getting out of this shit-hole, leaving everything behind.

He glances over at her -- she has her eyes closed, enjoying the last bit of warm sun they're probably going to get this year -- then looks back up to the sky. "I'd say come visit, but if I was leaving this fucking garbage dump, I'd be out with double middle fingers and never looking back."

She laughs, turning to look at him with a gentle smile. "Richie Tozier, when you leave Derry, I expect nothing less than a huge scene."

"Fuck yeah, they'll never forget the last time they see this beautiful face. I'm talking standing up on that stupid lumberjack, calling out every last asshole in this place." He points up at the clouds in the sky, as though they were the people of Derry. "Go fuck yourself, Greta Keene, you classless bitch! Eat my dick, Peter Gordon, you homophobic piece of shit! Burn in hell, Mr. Bowers, you racist fuckhole! Fuck you, Mrs. Kaspbrak, and not in the fun way! Fuck you, Maggie and Wentworth Tozier! And especially fuck you, Alvin Marsh!”

Oh _fuck,_ he got a little carried away. Bev was giggling, right up until he started calling out their parents. Mentioning Bev's dad was over the line, especially. His own parents might have more or less ignored him his whole life, and Eddie's mom spent years lying to him, but Bev's dad…

Even so, he doesn't apologize when he drops his arm. Because _fuck_ Alvin Marsh.

There's a long moment of silence -- the uncomfortable kind, the kind that makes Richie's skin crawl -- before he hazards a look over at Bev. She's laying on her side now, watching him thoughtfully. Richie grimaces and goes to adjust his glasses, but Bev reaches out and stops him by putting her hand on his arm. With a small smile, she shifts towards him, resting her head on his shoulder and settling an arm on his chest.

Richie's throat goes dry, feeling her body pressed against his. Bev's never been this physically affectionate before, not with him, anyway. Ben or Bill would be losing their shit, probably popping immediate boners. But Richie's body surprises him by settling in, reflexively wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him so her head is on his chest, her arm around him.

It's not sexual -- it's not even romantic. Richie's not sure what it is, just that he loves Beverly Marsh in a way that he knows he will never love another woman.

(It will be twenty-seven years before Richie Tozier will be able to recognize unconditional, no expectations, familial love for what it is.)

"Ben's in love with you, you know," Richie blurts out. She should at least be aware of the boy's feelings towards her before she leaves.

"I know," she replies quietly into his shirt.

"He knows you're in love with Bill."

"I'm not--”

"Calling bullshit on that. It's okay, Bill's in love with you too."

Bev doesn't respond to that one, but he can feel her smile.

Richie's quiet for another long moment. _"I'm_ not in love with you." He affects a suave tone. "Sorry babe, I just can't be tied down." Bev laughs, and Richie grins at the sound.

They stay there together until it's dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	2. November 1980 - Ben Hanscom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: if you have not read [Dream a Good One Tonight,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784731) Ben, like the other Losers, often calls Richie in the middle of the night to be distracted from nightmares.
> 
> Funny story: I broke my leg hours after posting the first chapter of this story. I was very pleased that no one tried to pull a Richie.

** November - 1990 **

"What the fuck is even in Texas, anyway? Cactus? Tumbleweeds? Cow shit as far as the eye can see?"

Richie's not sure why he was the first person Ben decided to tell that he was moving at the end of the semester. Richie loves the guy, same as he loves all the Losers, but the two of them don't have a particularly personal bond in the group. Not like Richie has with Eddie, or Ben had with Bev. Sure, Ben calls him in the middle of the night, but so do all the others, and-- _oh._

Ben doesn't call the others in the middle of the night. He calls Richie. Richie suddenly feels like an asshole for mentally belittling their bond even a little bit.

Ben shrugs as they walk, leaving the library after working on a history project they'd been assigned together. Where Ben had dropped the bomb that he and his mother were leaving. "Houston is more urban than Derry. So actually, less cow shit than I see here."

It's November, and the winter chill is setting in hard. The sky keeps considering snow, but has yet to make good on that threat. Richie peers up at it, wondering if tonight might be the night, and tugs his hood over his head. "Well that's something. At least you won't have to deal with dick shrinkage from cold there, am I right? Gotta utilize all three of those inches."

"I like the cold," Ben comments mildly, not engaging in Richie's dick humor. "It's been nice to not melt if you go outside during the summer. And Derry's definitely the most interesting place I've ever lived."

"Wait, wait, hold on, hold the fuck on." Richie stops walking to stare at Ben, who makes it a few more steps before turning back. "Don't tell me you're actually going to _miss_ this shit-hole!"

Ben fidgets with the handles on his bike, looking nervous. "Well… why wouldn't I?"

"Because Derry fucking blows!" Richie all but yells. "There's nothing here except a movie theater and a bunch of assholes! Oh wait, don't forget the Dead Kids in the Sewers Club that we barely missed getting into." He laughs without humor. "Oh yeah. Whole lot to miss here in Derry."

"Yeah, but…" Ben's not looking up at Richie, still picking at the grips of his handlebars. "You guys are here."

Motherfucker, some day Richie will learn to keep his fat fucking mouth shut and not constantly look like an insensitive prick. He gets what Ben means. He really does. He's never had any friends other than the Losers either -- none of them have ever had friends outside the group -- but he'd at least been lucky enough to have found Bill, Stan, and Eddie early. If he hadn't… fuck, Richie doesn't know what he would have done for all those years if he didn't have them.

"...Oh," he says simply, at a loss for any sort of witty comeback to that kind of sincerity. They start walking again, Richie sneaking glances at Ben, who just resolutely looks at the ground. The silence is awkward and Richie fucking _hates_ it.

Richie's not sure what it'll be like once Ben leaves in December. The group has already been fractured by Bev's absence; it's seven down to six down to five soon. Ben might be a newer addition to the group, but there was never any doubt that he just _fit_ with them. With all of them. There will be another gaping hole that no one else could fill.

"I was starting to think you'd gone fucking nuts." Richie forces an upbeat tone, probably louder than necessary, even for him. He's looking forward now, but out of the corner of his eye, can see Ben watching him in confusion. "You'e gonna miss _us,_ not fucking _Derry._ It makes sense -- we're the only cool thing in this piece of shit town. All the other friends you make in Houston are gonna seem so fucking lame compared to us."

Ben grins at him. Richie grins back.

"Do since it's so hot in Texas, do girls just walk around like, half-naked all the time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mathed it out that the Losers were in between 7th and 8th grade during the events of the movie. If there's canon evidence that I'm wrong, please let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	3. June 1991 - Stanley Uris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan's had a rough time of it, guys.

** June - 1991 **

Stan treats it like an appointment.

It's the Saturday after school lets out, and come evening, all of them are separating to go home. As he leaves, Stan tells Richie that he'll be over at ten o'clock in the morning, and then bikes away, leaving Richie staring after him in confusion.

And sure enough, at precisely ten, Stan knocks on the door. Richie's stomach has been fucked up since yesterday, a sense of foreboding hanging over him as he waited for Stan. They settle in the living room -- Richie's parents are gone for the day.

Richie's anxiety is validated. The Urises are moving at the end of the month. Stan tells him where but Richie's mind is so full of static he can't even register the words.

He's staring at the floor. Stan is watching him carefully, discomfited by Richie's silence. "...Richie?"

Richie's head jolts up at his name. "Who else knows?" His words are way sharper than he means for them to be.

Stan is sitting ramrod straight, and sharply looks down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap. He's not any better at emotions than Richie is, but while Richie deflects with jokes, Stan clams up. "Just Eddie, so far. I'm planning on telling Bill this afternoon, and Mike tomorrow."

Richie can't help but laugh shortly, humorlessly. Yeah. Just like a fucking appointment. Just like _Stan,_ trying to keep it all nice and neat and tidy while he's fucking _abandoning_ his friends.

Richie's just staring at Stan, who is getting more and more uncomfortable under the scrutiny, his hands now fidgeting in his lap. Richie doesn't give a shit.

Stan continues talking, still not looking at Richie. "I wanted to tell everyone individually, as opposed to--"

_"Why?”_

There's an accusation in Richie's tone that causes Stan to lift his head. "I figured it'd be better if it was more personal--"

Richie interrupts again, now standing. "No, I mean _why_ are you _moving?”_

Stan looks confused, shrinking back into the couch at the venom in Richie's voice. “My dad's going to be at a different synagogue--"

"What, is Derry's not fucking good enough?" Richie's pacing now, running his hands through his hair. His skin is itching, _crawling,_ every muscle in his body recoiling at just what this is going to mean.

He can tell Stan's holding back, Richie knows Stan better than he knows himself, he's always holding _something_ back. His voice is climbing in pitch, the way it does when he's not saying something. "Derry's so anti-semitic, my parents just--"

Richie can't stop himself from yelling. "That's hardly fucking news, why _now,_ Stan?!"

_"Because I finally convinced them to!"_ The dam bursts, and now Stan's the one who's shouting, but then collapses in on himself. His elbows are on his knees, one hand in his hair while the other cups his face. "I can't _do_ it anymore, Richie! I've been begging to move for two _years!_ This whole town, it's-- it's _evil,_ and I can't deal with it anymore! I wake up from nightmares _every fucking night,_ nightmares about a woman and _lights,_ and the sewers but I can't… I can't remember _why."_ His voice breaks on the last word; he's crying.

Richie had been waiting for the break, _pushing_ for it, but the emotions in Stan's words still him, chill him down to the fucking _bone._ "Every… Stan." He sits next to his friend on the couch. "...You haven't called me in months."

It's something they don't talk about in the daylight, none of the Losers do. They don't talk about the countless late night phone calls Richie's fielded from every one of them over the past two years. Every late night phone call where Richie's talked them to sleep because he _can't_ sleep, plagued by the same nightmares that wake them up. Nightmares about a thing that they can't truly remember except that it fucking _happened._

Not that they call anymore, except for Eddie, and that's for different reasons. Like Richie said, Stan hasn't called him in months, same with Bill and Mike. Ben and Bev… Richie doesn't like to think about it, but he's pretty sure they've forgotten Derry altogether. Even the other Losers. Even Richie.

He'd assumed the others weren't having nightmares anymore, even if he still was. Apparently, he'd assumed wrong.

Stan sobs out his next words. "I just want to _forget."_

The words are a punch in the gut, and Richie wants to throw up when he hears them. Out of all the Losers, Stanley Uris is the one he's known the longest. The one who, in first grade, decided for some reason that he was willing to put up with the class clown who knew far more swear words than any six year old should. The one who introduced him to Bill and Eddie. The first one who ever actually gave a fuck about him.

He wants to forget. And the fucked up part is that Richie can't blame him.

Richie can feel tears in his own eyes, feel his throat tightening. But he swallows it back. Because he's Richie fucking Tozier, and his oldest friend is in pain. So he hikes up his big boy pants and puts his arm around Stan. He doesn't pull back when Stan flinches, instead pulling him into a hug and letting him cry into his shoulder.

It takes a few minutes before Stan composes himself, getting up to grab some toilet paper to blow his nose. He sits back down next to Richie when he returns. Both boys stare forward, not quite sure what to say to each other.

Unsurprisingly, it's Richie who breaks the silence. "You'll call, right? At least when you need to?" His voice is small, and Richie hates how unlike him it sounds.

Stan finally turns to him, forcing a small smile. "Of course." What a fucking day when _Stan_ is the one trying to lift _Richie’s_ spirits.

"You won't forget?"

The words are in reference to calling, but Stan's smart enough to read between the lines. "How could I forget a trashmouth like Richie Tozier?"

Richie prays that this time it's true. They've known each other for more than half their lives, not a year and a half like Ben, or even just a summer like Bev. That's gotta mean something, right?

That night, Richie falls asleep and the nightmares come for him, bringing same terror that’s been haunting him for the last two years. Eddie comes over and calms him down from a panic attack, chases away the nightmares of being forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	4. July 1991 - Bill Denbrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this right before I go into surgery. *fingerguns*

** July - 1991 **

Richie hears from Mike that Bill's leaving. And Mike heard a fucking _week_ ago.

Needless to say, Richie is fucking _livid._

He races over to the Denbrough house, nearly throwing his bike on the lawn before storming up to the front door. He doesn't knock, instead all but kicking his way in. He ignores the shocked look of Bill's parents and stomps his way upstairs to Bill's room. This time he does kick the door open.

"What the _fuck,_ Bill?!"

Bill looks up from his comic books, but doesn't look surprised. With a deep breath, he stands. "Richie--"

"When the fuck were you gonna tell me?! Why the fuck did I have to hear it from fucking _Mike?_ Did you tell Eddie or were you just gonna sneak the fuck out on us?!"

"I was g-going to tell you. Just n-not yet." The words are a sigh, steady as ever, even in the face of a raging Richie Tozier. "St-Stan just left and I didn't want to--"

 _"No!_ No, fuck you, Bill!" Bill's cool response just pisses Richie off even more. He pushes Bill, but doesn't manage to move him more than a step. Richie's shot up a bit in the past few years, but Bill's filled out a fair bit more, while Richie's still as scrawny and gangly and underfed as ever. "You don't get to justify this!" He can feel tears forming in his eyes and he _hates_ it, hates that another one of his friends is leaving, is going to _forget_ him, just like Bev and Ben and Stan and probably soon Eddie and Mike and he can't do it, not again, he can't lose _another_ one of them.

He goes to shove Bill again, but this time Bill is prepared. He grabs Richie's arms, and instead of pushing him away he pulls Richie into his arms, hugging him tightly, not letting go even as Richie struggles against his hold.

"Fuck you." His voice cracks, and he gives up. He grabs onto Bill's back, fingers twisted in the other's shirt, forehead dropping to Bill's shoulder. And he cries. Quietly, shoulders shaking as he tries and fails to hold it back.

Bill, strong Bill, Richie's best friend Bill, just holds him tightly, lets him cry. Richie feels Bill's face press into his hair, can hear his shaky breath as he holds back his own tears. "I don't want to, R-Richie. I don't want to forget everything that h-happened, forget _Georgie._ But my parents… I think they _want_ to forget."

Richie clings tighter. Because at this point, they both know that moving _is_ forgetting. Stan hasn't been gone that long, but no one has heard from him. It's been over a year since anyone has heard from Ben or Bev.

He holds on to Bill, not looking up when Bill's parents come in to check on them and Bill says they're fine. He holds on and just _prays._

_Not Bill, he's different, he won't forget, he'll remember, oh God, not Bill, please Bill, **don’t forget me.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and I don't know why, I think I've spent the most time on it.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	5. August 1993 - Eddie Kaspbrak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the Richie/Eddie chapter.
> 
>  **warning:** this chapter briefly contains vomiting

** August - 1993 **

It's been two years since Bill left, just a little more than that for Stan. Two and a half for Ben. Four years since Bev moved, since the fracturing of their group started.

They're down to three now, what had once been seven inseparable, fire-forged friends. Five years ago, Richie would have said that no amount of distance could truly separate them. Well, maybe Ben would have said that. Richie's comment probably would have involved a dick joke.

Mike already seems to be pulling away, though that's probably unintentional. His grandfather has been deteriorating for the past few years, and at seventeen years old he's got the weight of the farm almost entirely on his own shoulders, leaving him very little time for anything else.

Richie, on the other hand, is clinging harder than ever. He spends what time he can with Mike, and at this point, nearly every waking hour with Eddie. He'd never admit it, but when he goes too long without seeing him, he gets anxious. His skin starts to crawl, his chest aches, he starts chain smoking, and then eventually just goes to track the little fucker down. If it's during the day, anyway. At night, he watches the phone, hoping, _praying,_ that Eddie will call.

After those times, it feels like he can finally breathe again once he sees or speaks to Eddie. Once he knows that Eddie hasn't forgotten him somehow.

(He's self-aware enough to know that it's not _just_ that, but that is some shit he is _not_ equipped to unpack just yet.)

But no matter how hard he tries to hold on, there's a part of him that knows, has always known, that they all were going to be leaving Derry sooner rather than later.

It breaks his fucking _heart_ when it's Eddie's turn.

It's a week before school starts, eleven o'clock at night, when Richie hears the pounding on his door. He nearly falls out of his chair at the suddenness of the sound, and scrabbles to open the door.

Eddie's there, and he looks a fucking _mess._ It's obvious he's been crying, still _is_ crying, and hard at that. Richie panics -- he'd dropped Eddie off at home maybe an hour ago, what the fuck could have _happened?_ He immediately moves to hug Eddie, throat closing when the other pulls back.

Eddie shakes his head. "Let's just _go_ somewhere, I don't care, anywhere."

Richie just nods and grabs his keys; Eddie's already halfway to Richie's shitty truck before Richie can even close the door. His hands are shaking as he gets in. Eddie's already folded up in the passenger's seat, hugging his legs and resting his forehead on his knees, trying to stifle his crying.

Richie just drives. He's not even paying attention to where they are or where he's turning, he just drives, hyper-aware of Eddie sitting there, _crying,_ while Richie has no idea why. Eddie's there, but he can feel that familiar chest-tightening feeling, almost edging into panic.

Eventually, they end up on the outskirts of the Hanlon farm. Mike's long in bed, but they've spent enough nights out here to know he won't mind. Richie turns off the engine and turns to Eddie. "Ed--"

Eddie's already out of the cab. Richie quickly follows, and Eddie's already lowered the tailgate and is sitting on the bed of the truck, legs dangling. Well, at least he isn't fetal anymore, but that definitely is not enough to soothe Richie's panic. He goes to stand in front of Eddie and forces a weak laugh. "You're scaring the shit outta me, dude, say something."

Richie regrets his words the second Eddie speaks, his voice listless and empty. "We're moving."

 _Moving._ Eddie Kaspbrak is leaving Derry. Eddie is leaving _him._

Richie's body reacts before his brain can, and he doubles over and throws up next to his truck.

"Fuck, Rich!" Eddie's next to him, a hand on his back as Richie continues to retch. He hasn't eaten anything today, so it's all bile, but his stomach is determined to force out every last drop.

"I'm fine," he croaks, spitting out what he hopes is the last of it. His stomach is still clenching, but it seems there's nothing left, so he just grimaces through the cramping feeling, willing his gag reflex to relax. "I'm fine."

Eddie runs back up to the cab to dig for his emergency kit. It started off as just a first aid kit, stashed there once Richie started driving, just in case. But prepared as ever, Eddie's added other things to it, things for roadside emergencies like a flashlight, jumper cables, and flares. But also smaller, more personal emergencies, like a spare shirt, deodorant, and, thank God, mouthwash.

Richie's kicked dirt over the poor grass he'd thrown up on by the time Eddie's back. He takes the mouthwash and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it onto the same patch. "Sorry." His voice is hoarse as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It’s okay," Eddie replies, and hops back up on the tailgate. "Maybe I should be flattered at such a visceral reaction." He tries to laugh, but it falls short.

"Maybe," Richie replies, too drained from vomiting. He can feel his body shaking as he sits next to Eddie. "When?"

Eddie's shoulders droop, and he's looking down again. "Next… next week. My mom wants to be in New York before the start of the school semester."

"Next… _fuck,"_ Richie exhales the words, his voice now shaking too. He can feel the tears coming, and _fuck_ he's going to start ugly crying because after next week Eddie will be _gone_ and another one of his friends will have forgotten him and it'll be so much worse this time because it's _Eddie._

He turns and lurches forward to hug the other and they nearly bash heads because Eddie was trying to do the same thing. It takes a moment of scrabbling before they settle, Eddie's face in Richie's neck with his arms around his waist, one of Richie's arms around Eddie's shoulders while the opposite hand cups the back of his head and Richie buries his nose in Eddie's hair.

It's more intimate than two boys should be out in public, out in _Derry,_ but it's the middle of the night out on their friend's farm and even if it wasn't, in this moment Richie does not. Fucking. _Care._ He needs Eddie and Eddie needs him and soon they won't have each other, so bigoted Derry can just go fuck itself.

They sit there for only God knows how long, just holding each other. Richie's chest clenches when Eddie pulls away, but Eddie holds up one finger and goes to grab the blankets Richie keeps stashed behind the front seats. Richie helps spread them out, and both boys lay down in the bed of the truck. There's no hesitation; they resume their previous positions wrapped around each other, legs tangled, bodies pressed together, both of them just so desperate to hold on.

They don't talk about the imminent move, they don't talk about _anything._

Richie feels a warmth pool in his gut at the feeling of Eddie's warm breath on his neck, of Eddie's hair in between his fingers. He considers prying open that box of unexamined feelings towards Eddie, but decides against it. Not now, he can't throw that at Eddie when he'll be gone in a week.

Fuck. _Gone._

They fall asleep holding each other, and luckily Mike is the one who finds them in the morning.

\--

It feels like the week doesn't happen. Like he closed his eyes the night Eddie told him and then reopened them the day of the move. He's been at the Kaspbrak residence for more or less the entire week, ignoring the scowls from Eddie's mother, helping his friend pack, and simply just trying to soak up as much _Eddie_ as he could while he was here.

But all of it felt as short as a second, and now the day is here, and Richie's standing on the lawn that will soon not be Eddie's, staring at his friend as he tosses his backpack, the last of his things, in the front seat of the car.

Richie doesn't know what to say. He's barely even processed that Eddie's leaving, let alone how to react to it. He wonders if Eddie has. He wonders if this was Mrs. Kaspbrak's plan -- spring the move on Eddie at the last second so he wouldn't have time to try and fight it.

Eddie turns to Richie, his expression pained, bordering on the edge of tears, and Richie's throat clenches. This is it. This is the last time he'll ever see Eddie. Eddie will move, and like all the others, he'll _forget._ They haven't talked about it, because there’s no point. It's just what happens. He'll forget Derry, and he'll forget _Richie._

Richie closes his eyes, the tears already falling. For once in his life, he doesn't try to hold them back. For once in his life, he just lets himself _feel._

He feels Eddie's hand close around his, pulling him around to the side of the house, mostly out of view of the street. Richie can vaguely hear Mike's voice from the inside, maybe a little louder than necessary, talking to Mrs. Kaspbrak. Distracting her. Maybe Eddie asked him to, to give him an extra moment with Richie.

The second they're in the shade of the house, Eddie's reaching up to slide his arms around Richie's neck and Richie immediately reciprocates, holding Eddie as tightly to him as he can without crushing him.

 _Kiss him,_ a voice in the back of his head says. _It's your last chance._

Eddie pulls back and cups Richie's face in his hands. "Look at me, Richie." Richie obeys, and Eddie pulls his head down so their foreheads are touching. Richie's shaking hands settle lightly on Eddie’s hips.

_Kiss him._

"I'm coming back." Eddie's voice is firm, determined, reassuring. "As soon as I graduate, as soon as I can get away, I'm coming back to Derry."

"Eddie…" Richie starts, about to tell Eddie not to come back. Not to get sucked into the black shit-hole gravitational pull that is this horrible fucking town.

Eddie doesn't let him. "Even if I forget, if I come back, I'll remember. I'll remember everything. Derry. Mike. _You."_

_Kiss him, you piece of shit. Fucking. Kiss. Him._

Eddie's fingers slide back over Richie's jaw, his ears, curling in the dark hair at the base of his neck, and Richie grips his hips a little harder without realizing it. "I'll come back, and then we'll leave. Both of us. Mike too, if he'll come with, but at the very least, you and I are going to leave together. We can't forget if we're both there."

_For fuck's sake, Trashmouth, kiss him, give him something to remember, something to come back to, **fucking kiss him already!**_

__

Richie tries to ignore the voice. It's not fair, not right now, just when they're about to lose each other, he can't do that to Eddie, no matter how much he wants to. But Eddie's eyes are so earnest as he looks up at Richie, silently begging. For what _exactly,_ Richie doesn't know, but whatever it is he wants to give it to Eddie _so fucking badly._

__

Richie leans down at the same time Eddie arches up, but before they can manage more than the faintest touch of their lips, Mrs. Kaspbrak calls for her son.

__

The spell is broken, and they both pull back, fingers lingering for an extra second before they completely separate. Richie's lips tingle where they brushed against Eddie's and why the _fuck_ didn't he just listen to that voice in the first place, let them both at least take what they could get.

__

Mike stands beside him, arm around Richie's shoulders as Eddie drives away, out of their lives. He stays the night at the Tozier house, and is there for Richie as he sobs himself into exhaustion.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie was originally going to be driving a shitty hatchback, but I couldn't get the right description/visuals for it, so that's how he got a shitty truck.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


	6. August 1995 - Richie Tozier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was almost a 5+1 because the Losers' Club really lends itself to that format.

** August - 1995 **

After leaving, Eddie calls for the first few weeks. Sundays, at precisely midnight, the same way he had for years. They don't talk about much, mostly small talk, updating each other on their lives. They spend a fair bit of time just quietly listening to the other breathe on the other end of the line.

The first Sunday night that Eddie doesn't call, Richie freaks. He calls Eddie over and over, panic rising each time the answering machine clicks on. _"Hello, you've reached the Kaspbrak residence--"_

He hangs up every time.

Eddie doesn't call the next Sunday either. Or the one after that.

Two months later, he finally calls. His voice sounds confused when Richie picks up. "Uh, yes, I'm looking for…" He trails off, quiet, while Richie holds his breath, waiting, silently begging Eddie to find his name. "For… someone…"

Richie's gut turns to ice. "You've got the wrong number." He hangs up the phone, and then leaves the receiver off the cradle.

It happened. He knew it was going to, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. Eddie’s forgotten him.

From that moment on, Richie just feels numb.

After graduation, he only half-heartedly looks for Eddie on the off chance he did find some reason to return. But from the beginning, he knew it was a promise that Eddie was never going to be able to keep.

Richie doesn't bother with college. Continuing school holds no interest for him, and instead, he works. He gets a job at the Aladdin. And at the pharmacy. He works as many hours as they'll let him, and even in his off time he works down at Mike's farm for spare cash. He squirrels away every penny.

Because it's his turn to get out of Derry. It's Richie Tozier’s turn to forget.

It's his last day in Derry, and he's out on the Hanlon farm with Mike, sitting in the bed of his truck. The cab is already packed with all of the shit he felt worth dragging out of his childhood home -- it's not much. It'll take him roughly a week to get to Los Angeles, but he doesn't care. He'd go to China if he could drive there. As far as he can get away from fucking Derry.

He and Mike don't talk much; they never do. Mike's presence has always soothed Richie’s restless nature in a way that no one else's could. He just sits with his last friend, taking in everything he can before it's lost to him.

"You're really doing it," Mike finally says, breaking the silence.

Richie takes a drag from his cigarette, and exhales the smoke out his nose. "Yup." He thinks of when Bev left, when they talked about the scene he would make when he left Derry. But instead, here he is, slinking out, and Mike is the only person who knows. Richie idly wonders how long it will take before his parents notice he's gone.

"Just… drive carefully, yeah?"

"Come with me, Mike." The words are old; since he made the decision to leave, he's been fighting the losing battle of trying to get Mike to come with him.

Mike, predictably, shakes his head. "I'm supposed to stay here. Same as you're supposed to leave."

_"Bullshit,"_ Richie growls, but he doesn't argue any further. Mike's made up his mind; he's most likely going to sell the farm in the next few years, (it's been struggling since his grandfather's death, and Mike's heart just isn't in it,) finally go to college, and find himself a nice, quiet job. Maybe as a librarian.

But whatever he does, he's going to do it here in Derry. Someone has to stand guard; neither of them say it, but Richie knows that Mike's decided to be the one to keep the lighthouse, to watch for _It._ Whatever _It_ is.

Not for the first time, Richie wishes he had a fraction of the strength that Mike Hanlon possesses.

There's no putting it off any longer. Richie flicks his cigarette away and gets out of the truck, closing the tailgate once Mike follows suit. "For what it's worth… I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry I'm leaving you alone. I'm sorry I won't call. I'm sorry I'm going to forget you. I'm sorry you'll be the only one to remember._

Mike smiles a bit sadly, a bit ruefully, and pulls Richie into a tight hug. Richie returns it, breathing Mike's scent in deeply. He smells like dirt and sweat and strength and honesty. Mike pulls away and looks at Richie, one hand on his shoulder, the other one on the side of his head. His smile is now warm. "Go turn California upside down, Rich."

Richie grins back at him, reaching up to squeeze Mike forearm. "They won't know what hit them." With a wink, he gets in the truck and drives off, watching Mike's figure in the rear view mirror as long as he can.

It's strange, knowing that he's going to forget. With every state border he crosses, every uncomfortable night he spends sleeping in his truck, he can feel his memories fading, slipping away one by one.

He doesn't fight it. By the time he reaches Los Angeles, all he has are vague recollections he can't attach to faces or names. A warm smell of earth that somehow steadies him. Hair as bright as fire, tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke. A round face hiding behind a book. Crisp button-ups, tucked into khaki slacks. Strong, poignant words slowed by a stutter. Dark eyes, calming hands, and a kiss that didn’t happen.

There are no associations, but he holds onto each one, finding solace in them during dark, sleepless nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, we hope you enjoyed your flight with Tozier Trauma Airlines.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


End file.
